


Jaskier, Bard Assassin

by sageclover61



Series: Bard Assassin [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin Jaskier | Dandelion, BAMF Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, BAMF Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, F/M, Feelings, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Multi, Musician Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22652116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageclover61/pseuds/sageclover61
Summary: Jaskier's very last target for the Assassin's Guild is in Cintra. He doesn't know why they would be in Cintra, given that the entire country has been more or less burned to the ground by Nilfgaard, but apparently they are.Geralt just wants to get Ciri safely to Kaer Morhen without any further delays.And Yennefer just wants Jaskier to be safe, because this is neither safe nor happy.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Bard Assassin [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623745
Comments: 30
Kudos: 625





	Jaskier, Bard Assassin

**Author's Note:**

> The moment you have all been waiting for has arrived! I hope this fic was worth the delay.

Each new day was spent in torturous waiting. He’d asked Yennefer in the days before Nilfgaard attacked Cintra’s castle to take his personal belongings somewhere safe, as he could not bear the thought of losing the lute Filavandrel had gifted him, when everything went sour. That had been weeks ago.

He knew there was no way that this could end well. Oxenfurt had made their allegiance with Nilfgaard well enough known that there was no way he could ever go back. Not when his heart still laid with Geralt and his child surprise was the only heir of Cintra left.

Jaskier still hadn’t received the message yet about who his contract in Cintra would be, but he knew in his gut that even for all that he intended to carry it out, he would not. He would try, and he would have moral obligations not to, and there would be a number of assassins right behind him waiting for that moment to make an example of him.

His weeks in exile in Cintra had been well spent, talking to every contact he could think of and everyone else inside. Oxenfurt’s secrets ran deep, but he’d discovered things he’d never wanted to know. 

He was merely an assassin bard. The guild favored their Witchers of the school of the Viper, and their rogue mages.

He had very few regrets. He’d had the opportunity to know Geralt for twenty three years, had loved him, had possibly been loved in return. He regretted that he’d never had the opportunity to tell the Witcher the truth. He regretted how they had left things at the top of the mountain. That while he had slept with both Geralt and Yennefer, they had not all slept together properly. Just one single sleep, and he’d awoken alone to find they’d run off to fight a dragon without him.

There were only two scenarios that he could see. Either he never saw Geralt again because the target had nothing to do with them but it went as far south as he predicted and died first, or the target was going to be the child of surprise, because of course it would be, and it would be Geralt who killed him.

To die at the hands of the Witcher he knew more intimately than any other ever had. That would be an honorable death indeed.

* * *

“Bard, why are you still here in Cintra?” Yennefer’s sudden appearance was a surprise, but Jaskier had come to expect her to appear at the oddest of times, even if they were inopportune. But he didn’t mind.

Jaskier was sitting on a stone step in the middle of a mostly collapsed village. Nilfgaard was long gone, and everyone was dead. “I can’t leave. I have the tracker for the contract, and there’s a tracker on me. Even if I do exactly what I’m supposed to do, I’m still done.”

“Who could it possibly be? Everyone is gone.”

He laughed, darkly. “They didn’t tell me that. They said that I would know when I saw the individual, and they’re coming this way.” He sighed. “They said it’s a political target, someone who escaped the complete destruction of Cintra’s city. I can’t see how Princess Cirilla, Geralt’s child of surprise, could have possibly survived long enough to escape, but I hope that it’s her, and that I can see Geralt one last time. I’m not going to complete this though, whoever it is.”

“What can I do to help you?” Yennefer asked.

“I can cast the spell to move the tracker to the object of my choice. I can even cast the portal to send the objects to the other side of the Continent. But there’s assassins here already, and there’s assassins that will know to come to this location as soon as anything happens. The instant they’re no longer being tracked, you  _ have  _ to portal them somewhere else.”

“Jaskier… Ciri is still alive. She and Geralt and I accidentally dreamwalked recently. I think they’re looking for me, but I wanted to check on you first.”

He exhaled with a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He pointed. “The target is half a click in that direction, can you tell who it is? I could leave my tracker here and you could take me to Geralt.”

Yennefer silently worked the necessary piece of magic. “You were right. It is Geralt and Ciri.”

“People linked by destiny will always find each other,” Jaskier whispered. “We need a better plan. I could teach you the spell to move the tracker. It’s easier than searching for it, and she shouldn’t have to give it up if it’s sentimental.”

Once Yennefer nodded, he quickly taught her the spell, demonstrating by moving the tracker from his amulet to a simple stone. Once she had repeated it by moving the tracker to another stone, he said, “There’s no way they won’t be sending Witchers from the school of the Viper. If they send more than 2, there’s no way that’s a fight we can win.”

Yennefer’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re not a Witcher.”

“No, I’m not a Witcher. I would want to be a Witcher from any other school than the Viper. They’re raised for subterfuge and deceit. They really do have no feelings, no sense of morality. From birth they’re designated as spies and assassins, and I have it bad enough without needing to be one of them.”

“Yet you share their functional immortality, and their signs.”

“My research has revealed that each school uses their own alchemical formula for the Trial of the Grasses. Oxenfurt hid that they became the new lair for the school of the Viper, but they developed a second, much more dilute, formula. For those without the disposition to become Witchers, but not enough talent to become mages, they use this formula. Witchers are born with no magical talent, the Trial of Grasses gives them access to… something different. Bardling assassins are taught a single witcher sign, and two magic spells. Practically useless in all the ways that matter.”

“They didn’t teach you ignis,” Yennefer prods. “There’s no way they would have taught that one, if they only taught one.”

“I have cast Ignis and another one, signs that I learned following Geralt around for 22 years. Sometimes I wonder if he’s forgotten that he ever learned them. If I survive this, and Geralt is still on speaking terms with me after all this, I want him to teach me the last four.”

“If we survive this, I will take you wherever you want to go, and help you set up with whatever life you want, as permanent as you want it to be.”

“I’ve never been to the coast, but I’ve always wanted to see it with my own eyes. The sand, the mountains, the endless salt water and the sunset that looks like the sun is drowning.”

“How long do you think we have?”

“They’ll be here soon.”

Jaskier found he couldn’t help himself, and hummed to himself the penultimate line of his newest ballad.

“So seek ye now the White Wolf

He'll stay their wicked hand

A steel and silver burning heart

To guide through darkened lands .”

“I’d better get to hear that epic ballad. That’s the one you were working on about the Princess?”

“I think I should call it, ‘Last Rose of Cintra’. Since everyone else is gone.”

  
  


“You still haven’t told me who Yennefer is.”

A little girl’s voice.

They were out of time.

Jaskier inhaled deeply. He centered himself, and then tried for the means to communicate silently.  _ “Geralt. The assassin’s guild has a tracking spell on something of Ciri’s. Yen can remove it, but Ciri has to get out of here.” _

“Jaskier?” Geralt called out.  _ “I take it that’s why we’re surrounded? Why would the Vipers be after you?” _

Jaskier handed Yennefer the stone with his tracking spell on it. “You’ll be able to get close enough to them, but you might have to portal twice. Once to get Ciri out of here, and another to abandon the tracking spells.”

She nodded, then walked forward and out of the alley. “Geralt, it’s good to see you again. Is this your child of surprise?”

Jaskier rubbed the handle of the dagger in his sleeve as he followed slowly. Taking the indecent number of contracts lately meant that he wasn’t as out of practice as he might have otherwise been, which was good. But he wasn’t sure that he could handle the Witchers. The fact that there were at least six assassins lying in wait meant that the school had considered this an incredibly important task and could not risk being defeated.

Or they’d been expecting Geralt of Rivia to accompany the girl.

“Fiona,” the girl said. “Are you Yennefer?”

“Yennefer of Vengerberg,” she introduced, steps in front of Geralt and Ciri.

“Won’t you come introduce yourself as well, Jaskier?” Geralt called.

Jaskier could see Yennefer’s mouth moving, uttering the spell he’d taught her to move the tracking spell that must have been on the sash Ciri was holding close to her chest.

“Fiona, Yennefer is going to take you somewhere safe, away from here. I want you to listen to her, okay? We’ll rejoin you after nightfall.”

“Geralt? What’s going on?”

Yennefer was reaching for Ciri’s wrist, and Jaskier could see the portal spell forming on her lips. But it was going to be too slow, and he knew it because from somewhere behind him he could  _ hear  _ the sound of a blade being thrown.

Jaskier moved, predicting the arc of the knife by ear, and catching it by the blade seconds before it would have hit Ciri’s shoulder. The next instant, Yennefer and Ciri and the portal were gone.

He dropped the knife, blood dripping from the gash across the palm of his hand. Geralt was already drawing both of his swords and engaging the assassin that had thrown it, which was both amusing and tiring because they really were surrounded.

Why  _ was  _ he so exhausted already? It felt like he’d already reached the state of an adrenaline crash, but the battle had hardly even started yet, so that couldn’t possibly be the cause.

He bent to pick up the knife he’d caught, eyes widening as he recognized the dark honey colored substance of an oily consistency that had been rubbed along the blade. For fuck’s sake. A sedative so strong that it could put the average man into an almost unwakeable deep sleep for three days.

Now was most certainly  _ not  _ the time for that. Another knife barely missed him as he jumped out of the way. It had come from the other opposite direction than the flank Geralt was currently engaging, so he scrambled towards it. Geralt might not know that he was capable in combat, but he was. He might have not have ever learned to use a sword, but his delicate frame was much more suited to stealthy combat. So if he could just sneak into the forest and get the drop on them, he could do some backstabbing. And then he’d take a nap.

There were two assassins standing next to each other, and they hadn’t seen him yet, but Jaskier knew he had to do something about that. He wasn’t steady enough on his feet to just walk over and stab them both, so he decided to try something else instead.

_ “Ignis,”  _ he whispered. Almost instantly, both assassins were engulfed in flames, and there was no screaming.

It shouldn’t have been that easy, a small part of his mind reminded him. But he was too tired to worry about it. There was fire, but it wasn’t spreading, and at least for the moment, he wasn’t in any immediate danger.

He stepped closer to the fire. There wasn’t a lot of heat coming from the two fires, but he was cold and sleepy.

  
  


“There you are, you sorry excuse for an assassin. I can’t  _ believe  _ they ever let you into the guild.”

Jaskier had trouble drawing enough focus away from the fire to register that he didn’t know who was talking to him or why they were addressing him so coldly. Just another nameless, faceless assassin.

About the time the arm was wrapping around his face and making it really hard to breathe, he realized that maybe he should be doing something about that, and thrust the knife he happened to be holding as hard as he could between the assassin’s second and third rib.

The assassin let out a strangled shout, and then his grip over Jaskier’s face went slack as the assassin collapsed backwards.

The knife was still in Jaskier’s hand, he’d never let go of it.

Jaskier rested his head against a tree, having returned his attention to the fire still smouldering a few paces ahead of him. Maybe if he just rested his eyes for a few minutes, they’d stop feeling quite so scratchy.

  
  


“You stupid, stupid bard! I am going to drag your carcass back to Oxenfurt and they’re going to make a public example of your execution!”

His knee hurt.

“Any last words, Bard?”

He yawned. “Somne.” The nonsense stopped. Maybe now he could get some proper sleep. He was so  _ tired.  _ Like he hadn’t slept in months, kind of exhausted. But there was nothing for it.

* * *

“Jaskier, Jaskier. Can you wake up for me?”

His head lolled to the side, and he realized that his hand, the one that had been holding something very important, was no longer holding anything, and it had cramped badly. He managed to force his eyes open, and they widened at a sight he’d spent so long wondering if he’d ever see again. ‘Geralt!” he frowned. “Why are there ten of you?”

“I’m going to put you on Roach, okay? Are you injured anywhere besides your hand?”

“My knee hurts,” he said, because it stung, as Geralt lifted him into the air and onto his horse. “My hands hurt,” he added, as Geralt swung himself up onto the horse behind him. Both of his hands hurt. The one that was still bleeding, and the one that was cramped. “My head and eyes hurt. It feels like someone tried to stab them with little salad forks and pull them out of my head through my nose. And I’m so tired. I feel as though I’ve never slept in my entire life. Are you real? You’re not one of the assassins using a doppler, are you? I’ll have you know I’m not as helpless as I look.”

“I’m glad you were never as helpless as you looked.” His fingers rubbed the back of Jaskier’s head and it felt really nice. “Did you hit your head on anything? Did anyone hit you in the head?”

“I don’t think so. The blade that cut my hand was poisoned with a sedative, but it didn’t hit me in the head.” He yawned again. “Will you teach me the rest of the Witcher Signs?” He wanted to learn the last four. Not necessarily to ever use them, but for the sake of knowing that he was capable of casting them all.

“Hmm.”

If that wasn’t so familiar.

“Did you use any Witcher signs?”

Had he? Maybe he had. “Yes. One for fire and one for sleep.”

* * *

It was well past nightfall when Geralt decided they were an acceptable distance from the ambush to make camp. He had laid Jaskier down on the bedroll, and started a small fire while he waited for Yennefer to return. If she returned.

In the meantime, he was studying the knife he had removed from Jaskier’s grip. It was very bloodstained, and he could smell the two distinct sources, Jasker, and one of the assassins Jaskier had managed to kill. There was a third stench, he couldn’t quite place it, but he could only guess that it was the sedative Jaskier had mentioned.

If the target had been Ciri, as Jaskier had said, then there should have been no reason for there to be so many assassins present, or for them to go after the bard. They might have had the knowledge that a Witcher would be accompanying the girl, but from he had been able to gauge from Jaskier’s position was that he had also been a target.

Even stranger was the admittance from Jaskier that he had cast Witcher signs. It wasn’t that only Witchers  _ could  _ cast their signs, but none chose to do so due to their belief that it was an abomination of magic. He supposed that he had used Ignis himself enough over the years traveling with Jaskier for the bard to have picked it up himself, but he’d never noticed Jaskier to be paying that kind of attention.

Jaskier stirred on the bedroll.

“Why would the Assassin’s guild have a contract in your name, Jaskier? Did you sleep with the wrong husband or wife for the last time?”

The bard gave a long suffering sigh. “Geralt, answer me honestly. How old do you think I am? We’ve travelled together on and off for the last twenty three years.”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ve been an assassin for longer than the last four decades,” Jaskier says finally. “And my luck finally ran out, as the entire guild has aligned themselves with Nilfgaard. There is no retiring from the guild. We run all the contracts they thrust onto us, until we get caught and die, or they decide we’re too much of a liability, and put out a contract on us. I knew my time had run out, but I did not know it would be an ambush on you and Ciri too.”

He had been sleeping with Jaskier on and off for more than two decades, and he had never suspected Jaskier’s past to be anything like this. And yet, he’d watched as Jaskier had pulled the knife intended to kill Ciri out of the air.

“I hope you’re not too angry, but I’ll leave if you want me to. I should have told you years ago, but it never seemed like the right time, and then it seemed like too much time had passed.”

Geralt could tell that the bard was trying really hard not to start yawning again. Whatever had so beautifully extended his life had also clearly given him some resistance to the sedative, but not enough to keep him completely coherent as it ran its course. He put the knife down, and walked over to lie down next to his more-than-friend. Jaskier looked scared, perhaps frightened that his revelation was going to be the end of everything, and he wanted to assure him that it wouldn’t. He assumed that Jaskier would be angrier about their argument at the top of the dragon mountain, but a full conversation, and his own apology, would have to wait until after the sedative wore completely off. In the meantime…

“I’d rather you didn’t go anywhere,” he said, gently pulling Jaskier closer. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere, and I missed you too much to let go of you so rashly.”

* * *

“Fuck you, Geralt! If you’ve gone and slept with him without even apologizing for what you did to him, I’m going to fucking castrate you! Forget whatever magicks made you sterile without making you impotent! I’ll cut your fucking balls off!”

“Yennefer.”

Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t Geralt who spoke, but rather Jaskier, who had been clearly deeply asleep up until that moment.

“He has very nice balls, but we didn’t fuck, if that’s what you’re so worried about. There was a  _ very  _ strong sedative on the blade I caught, I am not currently capable of consenting, nor am I particularly responsible for my actions right now. My head feels like that time we were experimenting with mind altering herb combinations, and I’m seeing at least double. The sky is a  _ very  _ pretty shade of chartreuse and maroon. I might throw up, but I’m significantly more interested in sleeping for at least a month.” He paused for a good inhale. “Ciri’s alright, isn’t she?”

Yennefer opened her mouth to answer that the child was safe and fine, but she was interrupted by Jaskier snoring.

“He’s been like this for hours,” Geralt said. “Anyway, no, I didn’t defile him or whatever you were thinking. He told me about the part where he’s an assassin, and then was convinced I’d never speak to him again so I laid down here to help dispel those associated notions.”

“Alright, then. Do you have a sample of the sedative I can analyse?” She still wasn’t convinced that Geralt was good for Jaskier, but the bard assassin did look happy, and maybe that was the most important thing.

“There’s some still on the knife over there. Not a lot, but it should be enough.”

Yennefer nodded, frowning softly, but she seemed willing to let it go for the time being. “Alright. I’ll look it over, but right after, we need to get back to where Ciri is, and to somewhere safe after.”

Geralt sighed. He only knew of one place where Ciri and Jaskier would be safe, and it hadn’t allowed any outsiders within its walls in centuries. But there was no other choice. “We will go to Kaer Morhen. It is a fortress, protected by Witchers, and was used as a training ground for new students. It is likely one of the safest places in the world at the moment, and Nilfgaard would not dare to attack when its hold on the other regions is so new.” Vesemir wouldn’t be happy, but Ciri was his child of surprise, and Witchers had been bringing their surprise children home to Kaer Morhen for generations.

Yennefer didn’t comment on his words, but nodded again as she reached for the knife, holding it in her hands. “The trace of the sedative is small,” she mused, magic dancing across the blade as she worked to identify the sedative. “It’s a rare mixture, not used often, but it seems to be a long acting substance, likely used to ease the difficulty of transporting prisoners long distance. It looks like it should have almost immediately put him in a deep sleep, and kept him there for at least a week. The fact that he’s able to wake, even for brief moments, is incredible.”

As far as Geralt had been able to tell, except for the part where he wasn’t aging, Jaskier had been incredibly human passing. “I know very little about the assassin’s guild, or why the assassins that showed up were rogue mages, general assassins,  _ and  _ Witchers from the school of the Viper.”

“I’m pretty sure the Viper branch of the Witcher family is in control of the assassin’s guild, and I don’t know how much crossover the guild has with the Bard College in Oxenfurt, but the headquarters of the assassin’s guild is there. And the rogue mages probably just show up on their doorstep so they take them in and use them as another tool.” She shook her head. “We need to go as soon as Jaskier wakes up again. Do you need help packing?”

“The fire needs to be put out, and you have the knife. That only leaves Jaskier and the bedroll.”

* * *

They arrived outside Kaer Morhen first thing the next morning.

Jaskier was riding behind Ciri on Roach, while Geralt and Yennefer walked on either side of Roach. The bard was really good at pretending that he was feeling better, but it was clear that he was still feeling incredibly groggy.

Both Geralt and Yennefer had assured him that it was no trouble if he fell asleep, but apparently he’d decided that he couldn’t miss this for anything. Not that Geralt could blame him. Kaer Morhen was an impressive fortified structure, Multiple towers extending high into the sky, with a beautiful courtyard. It was nestled safely in the valley, and Geralt realized he hadn’t come home for the winter in far too long.

A long figure stood at the outer gate as they approached, and Geralt smiled as he saw him. He was  _ home. _

“Geralt,” Vesemir said, pointing at Jaskier. He was frowning and did not look at all pleased. “Witchers trained in the school of vipers are not welcome here in Kaer Morhen.”


End file.
